


like a sucker punch that you knew would come

by mirandabeach



Category: Bastille (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Slow Burn, WWCOMMS | Wild World Communications (Bastille), [smacks laptop] this bad boy can fit so many song references in it, a communist love opera, kind of, writing it fuckin felt like it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-15
Updated: 2020-07-15
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:47:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25271878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mirandabeach/pseuds/mirandabeach
Summary: Kyle’s just finished his lunch, leaning back in his chair and failing so spectacularly at being casual it’s honestly laughable. And just like always, he comes right out with it in three, two, one...“So. That thing, with the dude.”Zero. Charlie’s not sure the man knows the definition of the word tact.“The rabid man covered in blood wearing an enemy uniform?” Will asks, though it’s not really a question.
Relationships: Charlie Barnes/Dan Smith
Comments: 8
Kudos: 19





	like a sucker punch that you knew would come

**Author's Note:**

> greetings. welcome to my twisted mind
> 
> to say this took a long time would be the understatement of the year. the sincerest of thank you's go to: peyton, for checking in on me a bunch, beta reading, and getting me aboard this ship; bella for being patient enough to wait until this was complete to read the whole thing; and jillian & amy & everyone who writes much much faster than i for being invaluable inspiration along the way. you're all why i didn't hit delete on this google doc.
> 
> and as always, thank you to burnie for being burnie, and finally, after four goddamn years, listening to bastille.

###  _1_

Charlie wants to fucking scream, but for the sake of his own ears, he groans instead. It’s a bit of a relief to vocalize his frustrations, letting it rise in pitch as he exhales. He moves to push away from the desk, determined to stretch this tension out by force and get some circulation back to his limbs. But just the motion jostles Charlie’s slung arm. His wince is audible, and from across their makeshift cubicles, Woody levels him with an unspoken ' _I told you so_ ' that he’s gotten _quite tired_ of hearing over the past week. He glares, sinking further back in his seat as he cradles his elbow, petulantly.

“ _So_ sorry mate. Not like they put the bloke with a broken arm on desk duty,” Charlie grumbles, trying to shift the shoulder sporting the sling and simultaneously grab a stress ball situated across the desk. He could barely type, and his post-mission report was nowhere close to finished, the document stark white and quite blank in front of him. The Commissioners must be ridiculous if they think he’s going to get this done anytime soon, but Charlie suspects this was exactly the intended effect. This debrief had felt more like being chewed out by his parents for sneaking out than anything professional, with the bruised knees and guilt rolling around in his stomach to match. Charlie relayed his side of the story through gritted teeth, the painkillers finally starting to wear off and the reality of just how badly he’d fucked this mission up starting to settle in.

So yeah, he's frustrated. Figures that's the least he's allowed to be.

Woody decides to take pity on him, though barely. “You aren't on desk duty, you're doing paperwork. You’re pretty lucky you weren’t put on desk duty for the rest of the _decade_ after the stunt you pulled.”

Considering said stunt nearly got him killed, Charlie unfortunately has to agree. The mission had already been a harrowing one from the start, even though it was just meant to be standard recon, scoping out the place and getting a lay of the land. In reality, they'd managed to pick out one of the most protected radio towers under WWCOMMS control. It was hours until they managed to figure out all of the patrol patterns, he and Will slowly making their way across the tower’s grounds. But Charlie quickly lost his patience—he split off, thinking he could be fast enough and locate some sort of control room. There had to be something more they could get from this mission, but he definitely didn't find it, running headfirst into a jumpsuited agent. 

His forearm aches as he remembers the man striking it, then pistol-whipping him to the floor. Will wasn't too far behind, at least, so it was a quick getaway from there. But it was a clean fracture: " _You won't need surgery, we can thank whichever god for that,"_ the doctor had said, like Charlie’s head wasn't full of cotton and the lack of non-alcoholic painkillers painfully apparent. He shudders thinking about it, so he finally drops the glare and concedes defeat.

“You’re right, I was reckless—doesn’t make it any easier trying to get this done.” Woody shakes his head, huffs, but Charlie can tell he’s amused by it all too. He’s happy the man’s back to acting cheeky and looking well-rested these days, especially in the aftermath of that disaster of a mission: Woody had nearly broken Charlie’s _other_ arm when he twisted round in his seat to see him sprawled out in the back of the van, trying to keep it together. Charlie did his best keep up a conversation, something lighthearted for team morale and all that, even though his eye was so puffy he could hardly see where to aim a pained smile. 

All lingering pain aside, for the most part, life seems to be back to what they call normal.

“Well I’m about to finish up over here. I’ll lend you a hand,” Woody grins at him, mischievous and sly, “or two.” 

Charlie launches the stress ball at him, feels the weight dissipate and is light again. “Oh, you’re a comedian now huh?”

With Woody’s help transcribing, they manage to get the write-up done in record timing. It might not be a bad idea for the future, Charlie thinks. His neck aches from being hunched over that long though, and it just goes to show that absolutely nothing gets any easier doing this kind of work.

It’s half past seven when they emerge from the dusty, dim offices, the lighting in the hallway not that much brighter. The conversation is light, and Charlie thinks he’ll bug Kyle to sneak out with him after dinner to shoot the shit now that he’s off-the-hook. But they're not even halfway through the corridor before the emergency alarm is blaring in their ears, screeching so loud he worries they might go deaf before what triggered it manages to find them. Woody pats his pocket as a loud bang comes from down the hall, and they realize neither of them are armed. But the commotion is getting louder, shouting then gunfire then more loud bangs. Woody shoulders himself in front of Charlie, and prays that whoever finds them is a piss-poor shot.

Then a man with wild white eyes barrels around the bend. At a quick glance he’s unarmed, but what’s left of his white jumpsuit is tattered and covered in blood. It doesn't take long for the man to spot them up ahead, but he's frenzied, chest heaving and hands shaking as he skids to a halt. Charlie doesn't even get a chance to prepare for a fight. The man slumps against the wall, falling to his knees and leaving a trail of bright red behind. He convulses for a few seconds, blood dripping from his nose and face drawn painfully tight. And after a beat, everything becomes eerily silent.

Even the shouting sounds muffled, a posse with their weapons drawn running only a few seconds behind the man. Will is amongst them, looking frantic until he spots his friends up ahead. Everyone’s gaze shifts between the two men to the intruder and back again, just as perplexed as Charlie and Woody are. A few manage to shake their stupor, quickly securing the bleeding man and radioing in _intruder has been captured_ and _I repeat, the intruder has been captured._

Well fuck, Charlie thinks. There goes things finally being back to normal.

###  _25_

Dan curses, hand shooting up to press at the bridge of his nose so hard his nails bite into the skin. He hisses, drawing back a little. Charlie knows it shouldn’t ache, not anymore, but he’s well-aware of the way phantom pain tends to linger.

“Does it hurt?” Charlie asks gently, lowering what he’d been looking over to give the man his full attention.

“No,” assures Dan. A long-forgotten sensation shoots up his arm, and he lets his body shudder with it. Charlie goes a bit pink when the man admits, “it reminds me of when we met.”

###  _4_

Kyle’s just finished his lunch, leaning back in his chair and failing so spectacularly at being casual it’s honestly laughable. And just like always, he comes right out with it in three, two, one...

“So. That thing, with the dude.” 

Zero. Charlie’s not sure the man knows the definition of the word tact.

“The rabid man covered in blood wearing an enemy uniform?” Will asks, though it’s not really a question. God bless him, for never shying away from the wild reality of their situation. It’s what Charlie has appreciated about him most in the three years he’s known the man.

“Yeah, that guy. What do you think his deal is?” Even though he’s finished eating, Kyle doesn’t hesitate to swipe the rest of the stale muffin from Will’s plate. Will is also the only one of them that wouldn’t stab him with a fork for a move like that.

“The one I'm stuck working with for god knows what reason,” Charlie throws out there. He's still reeling from the news, feeling frayed like an exposed wire after his meeting with the Commissioners. _He’s valuable to our cause_ they had said. And just what about Charlie screamed that he was the one capable of handling this "valuable" nonsense?

Kyle barrels on, like he hadn’t even heard Charlie’s grumbling. “Word on the street is he's a turncoat,” he muses, quite keen on ignoring that it is, in fact, 2016 and not 1716. 

“I mean, he came right up to our front door screaming bloody murder. Either that, or he’s got a death wish,” Will hums, seeming to ponder the idea as he strokes at the scruff of his beard.

“Maybe he's a spy!” Kyle gasps, fork shooting into the air and flying out of his hand. Woody’s exasperated _Watch it!_ flusters the man, and he's mumbling apologies as he quickly stands to retrieve the evidence of his clumsiness. None of them say anything for a while after that.

“Maybe he just escaped, got a hold of himself and finally joined the right side.” Woody says as he stands, matter-of-factly and signaling an end to their discussion. 

All Charlie can do is hope he's right.

###  _6_

Will catches him toward the end of the day, tells Charlie that Dan’s been having night terrors, so violent it's been waking him up next door. He feels guilty for not checking in, banging on the wall, _anything_ instead of just ignoring it. Asks if he knows anything.

Charlie doesn’t, hasn’t really paid all that much attention to Dan besides giving him a wide berth when they happened to be in the same room. He’s still not sure how to feel about the man, let alone how to begin to ask how he’s been sleeping lately. Charlie thinks about the bags under the man’s eyes when he shows up for morning drills, sometimes forgetting the sunglasses but _never_ the gloves. His stomach churns oddly thinking back on it, the most thought he’d given to it before being _that makes him look even creepier than usual._ Dan never complains about the ridiculously early activities, but then again, he doesn’t seem to be holding lengthy conversations with anybody, let alone Charlie.

“Don’t know much more than you do, mate,” Charlie tells him. Will sighs deeply, running a hand through his short hair and looking worried. The sympathetic look on his face is kind of wigging Charlie out, and he thinks things must be _really_ bad if it’s got Will of all people this troubled.

“Alright. Just keep an eye out, will you?” He waits until Charlie gives him a tentative nod, before heading off. 

Laying in bed later that night, Charlie finds that he can’t seem to get the image of Dan’s eyes—so impossibly, terribly bright against the dark circles surrounding them—out of his head.

###  _2_

Eventually, after nearly four months of heartache and desk duty, Charlie's arm heals. Not a moment too soon, he thinks, the long, warm days of summer already faded fast. He’s felt his best, most focused in autumn, the air brisk and cool, mind sharp like the snap of leaves underfoot. The haze of heat clogs your head, but by winter it will become buried in freezing rains and icy snow. Charlie takes the renewed motivation in stride, along with his fully functioning arm, and he’s swiftly back to planning their next mission with gusto.

From his rapid-fire scribbling, half-baked ideas on shreds of napkin and old receipts quickly piece together into an assault on the nearby rail yard. From there, hopefully they can worm their way into the train system and push WWCOMMS out. It’s ambitious and possibly a death wish disguised as a strategy, but getting the Underground out of their hands could mean all the difference for taking them down in the long-run. 

Wild World Communications started out as a small and harmless broadcasting company, until a downright wicked man managed to make his way onto the board and shaped it into the media conglomerate/crime syndicate it is today. Most people figure the well-dressed man who appears on the weekly broadcasts is just another one of their victims, unknowingly dragged into this mess and taken hostage. At least he’s not dead yet, people say. Charlie’s not so sure if that’s actually much a consolation at all.

It doesn’t take long before they’ve got a firm grip on the whole country, even puppeting around Parliament like a marionette on strings. The massive skyscraper, in the center of London’s financial district, stands as a poignant reminder of that.

They’ve been at this for just about three years now: Charlie joined The Power Inquiry as a fresh-faced twenty-one year old, bright-eyed and eager to help the cause. He’d heard about The Inquiry while he was in university, flyers and pamphlets about a movement meant to encourage political participation and reform littered around campus. When things started to spiral out of control because of WCOMMS, the organization decided to go underground. Rumors were flying that they’d formed something like a de-facto rebel alliance. 

So Charlie dutifully went to see his family that Christmas, then hopped on the earliest train back to London, eager and ready to get started.

Their warehouse-turned-underground bunker wasn't as easy to track down as the rumors however, gathering any substantial leads in the city was next to impossible with the high level of surveillance. Charlie hated seeing the streets this empty, too dangerous for people to leave their homes for fear of getting harassed by WWCOMMS agents. They all wore the same white coveralls, making them stick out like a sore thumb against the grey backdrop of London, and it became easier to just call them 'jumpsuits' over anything else.

Eventually he got lucky, headed south and was knocking on the door in a series of 2-5-3 before noon. Almost relieving it turned out to be that simple and mundane. Charlie still thinks meeting Kyle, Will and Woody had been close to a miracle, with hundreds of faces running around the base at all hours of the day. Even more of a miracle that they found the four of them actually worked quite well together.

Woody might have been a mom with a minivan in his past life, Charlie reasons. Being the getaway guy doesn’t sound like a glamorous gig, but if something has a wheel, Woody can drive it _and_ fix it. Charlie nearly got himself shot the first time the man had showed up in a stolen helicopter. His mouth hung agape and his body had screeched to a halt because _since when did he know how to pilot a bloody_ helicopter _?!_

Woody keeps the lot of them in line, but cares fiercely—doesn’t hesitate to shove his own jacket into Charlie’s shaky hands with a vehement order to keep pressure on it _,_ _I’m not going to your funeral_. They've all needed help after inevitably getting stuck in the rut known as word block in the middle of a stack of paperwork, and he's even been able to pull Will out of his weird, 'old age’ moods more often than the rest of them combined. Kyle is currently dead last in the bracket, still trying to make up for creating the whole thing.

Woody had dubbed him The Man with the Plans one dull afternoon, and Charlie’s chest felt fuzzy and warm for a long while after. Inevitable disagreements and constant risk of workplace injury eventually made it fade a little, but still- Woody’s bear hugs aren’t that bad a perk either, if he’s honest. Comfort is hard to come by in the world they’ve found themselves in.

Kyle without a doubt is Charlie’s closest friend out of the whole team. There’s something infectious about the man’s childish enthusiasm, his inability to stay still and weakness for a good meal. Not to mention the wicked facial hair and unnatural talent in front of a command terminal. “It’s not so different from a piano, is it? Just using a different part of my noggin’,” he tried explaining once. Charlie doesn’t contest it, and it's funny to think Kyle’s ease with programming must have been a trade-off for some of his common sense.

But the antics they manage to get up to are just plain _fun_ ; trying to flirt with the chefs in the mess in an attempt for another serving, sneaking up to the roof to smoke a joint, even launching into ridiculous wordplay games at the drop of a hat regardless of location. They tried in a meeting with the Commission once, keyword being tried. But fighting and constantly having to watch your back gets tiring to say the least, and Charlie’s not sure if Kyle knows how grateful all of them are for the reprieve he brings.

No one is quite sure where Will is from exactly, or what he got up to before joining The Inquiry. He gives different answers, ranging anywhere from the city to the countryside to “oh loads of places, really”. It would be aggravating if it weren’t so funny to watch the new recruits who try to ask the man about himself over a morning cuppa.

Charlie sincerely considers him their team’s rock, the strong-and-silent type like one too. Will has always been content to let the rest of them lead the dialogue, as his steady gaze kept an eye on the world around them. He’s quick-witted though, and won’t hesitate to tell someone what for if they cross him. Charlie’s been on the receiving end of those jabs far too many times to count.

Together, the four of them managed to work their way up to become one of the most trusted units in the Inquiry, the Commission putting their confidence in them to handle some of the most critical reconnaissance and assignments. Charlie sort of fell into the role of ‘team leader’ somewhere along the way, for once in his life grateful for the perfectionist tendencies and broad strokes skillset. Despite his recent trend of getting hurt, and how exactly they were going to handle that from now on, their team _works_. The progress is slow, but steady. 

He tries to only distantly consider how long they’re going to be at this thing.

After about a month or so, the intruder incident had quieted down around base. The Commission had sequestered him off somewhere more secret than Charlie was privy to, and he figured they were busy interrogating him and keeping him away from the general population. He came pretty close to forgetting about the whole thing until the very man was in front of him again. 

He’s sans jumpsuit and dressed in standard work blacks, hair wild and eyes hidden behind sunglasses. There’s a pair of driving gloves overtop his long sleeved shirt, the shine already worn out of the brown leather. He’s a remarkable blend of skittish and assured as he walks through the small crowd, giving everyone as much distance as possible. That doesn’t change the fact that every single pair of eyes in the lounge are trailing him, then get stuck on the doorway he left through moments later.

The entire room bursts into a clamor, like a rubber band around your wrist snapping and leaving the skin tender.

Woody and Kyle find him a few minutes later, but Charlie’s head is too much of a mess to really contribute much to the conversation. He’s just… confused, about how the man is meant to fit into their operation, just what the Commissioners have planned, whether he’s still a literal bloody maniac. Whatever’s coming next, Charlie doesn't know. At the end of the day, new guy or not, they've got a goal to work towards: taking down WWCOMMS is still the top priority. If everything stays on track, that’s exactly what they’re going to do.

No reason to change what’s working. Progress is progress after all.

###  _23_

"Your hair made you look like a twat, you gotta admit that," Charlie chuckles, looking away from the folder and back to Dan. They’re spending the afternoon tucked away in his room, after finally managing to wrangle themselves a day off during the hectic hustle and bustle of planning, planning and _more_ planning.

 _This one needs to be thorough, Charlie. This will be it,_ the Commissioners had said. For all this stress, it’d better be.

Charlie’s got a spliff he copped from Kyle ages ago between his fingertips, chest bare and favorite joggers as comfy as ever. Charlie is half-reclined on his mess of pillows and blankets, and he’s feeling _fantastic_ ; loose and tame, relishing in these easy days that never seem to last as long as any of them would like.

Dan is laid out across his lap, content to fiddle with Charlie’s hands now that he’s given up hope of getting any work done. He exaggeratedly huffs at the dig, plucking back his folder and tossing it on top of the rest of the haphazardly balanced papers. He’s more interested in the webbing between Charlie’s fingers, tracing across the zig-zag of scars along the knobs of his joints.

"I like how I've got it now. The change is nice." Dan’s smile is small, just a simple and content thing. He’s got stubble all along his jaw now, and Charlie’s hands drift up of their own accord to feel the scratch of it against his fingertips. Dan hums when the attention moves up to his freshly bleached hair, damn near keens when nails feint digging deeper. Charlie grins, mischief and toothy, so wide his cheeks already begin to ache.

"I'll get you an even better gift come your birthday,” he promises fiercely. Dan just chuckles and drags him the rest of the way down.

###  _5_

Charlie never sees Dan without his tinted lenses and gloves. He understands to some degree, wanting to hide the havoc wreaked upon you when you’ve just joined the other team. But Charlie still can't get a read on the man, and his mind can't help but fill in the gaps.

Before getting a particularly nasty injury that managed to land him in the med bay for weeks, Charlie managed to sock one of the jumpsuits across the jaw, ricocheting their glasses to the floor. There was _nothing_ there- behind their milky eyes, black started to leak through from impact. He passed the ridiculous amount of time stuck there bugging the absolute shite out of his doctors and nurses about what exactly was going _on_ here. The most forthcoming of the bunch folded, told him that it changed people, made them closer to zombies _, completely eliminating their memories and free will._

So when Charlie comes upon what looks like a _murder scene_ as he steps into the showers, he knows what it is. Bile, dyed black, like someone drank the blood of a monster. The largest pool is right there in the entryway, and the tips of his sneakers came to rest just at its edge. Half-streaked handprints and a traveling drip pattern draws a path along the tiles further into the room. A retch, coming from the last stall, cuts off sharply when the door shuts hard behind him.

Charlie reels back, shoulder slamming into the door and leaving a dent in the wall as he runs.

###  _12_

Charlie’s not too sure why failure is so hard to swallow this time. He’s still choking on it, throat tight with near-misses and whizzing bullets and what-ifs. No one was hurt, but they had undeniably retreated with their tails between their legs and the frustrations of trying to make this new team _work_ finally reaching a breaking point.

As soon as they trudged themselves back into the safety of the hangar, Dan exploded. Charlie didn’t hesitate to explode right back. The others barely tried to calm them down, just as worn down and over the whole thing as they were. It was-

It was awful.

“I don’t know what you want from me!” Dan bellowed, loud and heated, sparks shooting from his eyes right into Charlie’s chest. He was suddenly reminded of those old rumors, the frantic whispers that Dan was meant to poison their entire operation from the inside out. He used to believe they didn’t affect Dan, rolling off him like raindrops on shutters. But no - Charlie had been wrong. They built up within him like a dam, and at long last, here was the inevitable flood. 

But Charlie has never been afraid of water.

“What are you on about? I don’t want _anything_ -” The way he spoke had been cold, but Charlie swore he was trying to keep the conversation level-headed. It felt like his skull had been put in a vice-grip, an ache deep in his bones going further and burrowing its way into his soul. The adrenaline rush and sheer surprise of still being alive had obviously worn off. But Dan wasn’t letting up, words rushing out before Charlie could even finish his attempt at deflection.

“Then why does it feel like nothing I ever do is going to be enough for you?”

And that’s what finally made Charlie bite back.

“It isn’t if you’re going to disregard orders!” He rebuked, throwing his arms up in irritation. “You turned off your comm, abandoned your partner and nearly got yourself killed.” Charlie could see Will shift where he stood in the corner of his vision, and while not much, felt like validation.

“I only did that because your plan wasn’t going to get us what we needed, maybe get us _killed."_ Dan started to say, “It just wasn’t there, the intel was wrong- the numbers were wrong-” hand flying up to fist in his hair with the other staying rigid at his side.

But that made Charlie laugh, just one sound sharp and full of disbelief. “Well, wouldn’t it have been great if you’d informed me of how wrong I was _six hours ago."_

Dan’s face turned dark and callous. “You’ve made it quite clear you don’t want me here. Not sure why you seem keen on hearing my input now."

And Charlie couldn't even argue with him. He knew Dan was fucking right.

“This will never work if you don't learn to trust me.” For a moment, Dan’s voice tilts towards something understanding. But then it’s right back to vicious and unrelenting. “God. Not much of a leader, _are you_?” 

Charlie stood there and seethed, well and truly weighing the option of turning the altercation toward something physical. His body vibrated with it, the long-forgotten adrenaline from earlier in the day threatening to make its way back into his system. They’d gravitated towards each other as they got into it, the tips of their shoes touching and hardly any space left between them. Dan’s glasses were gone, Charlie realized in the standoff. Having to look up at Dan to meet his eyes was making his neck ache even more, but he couldn’t find any more words. Couldn’t come up with anything besides childish digs and far too vulnerable truths.

And eventually, Dan turned and walked away. Charlie doesn’t feel like he’s won much of anything at all.

Kyle’s the first to go after that, either for the canteen or his bed, no one quite catches which. Woody doesn’t even say anything as he saunters off, back towards his car. That leaves Will to walk Charlie back to the barracks. He feels like he's about to get scolded by his dad for fighting with his sister over not sharing his action figure.

Charlie knows he should say something about... whatever that was. His brain feels like utter mash though, his whole _being_ aching with every step and what is undoubtedly a migraine already set in behind his eyelids. When he finally scrounges up enough brain power to speak, what comes out is rough and unkind 

“So did you stay behind to yell at me for being an ass, then?” He winces at his own words, but holds steady. Will turns to appraise him, not saying anything at first, and Charlie can't help but fidget. He wonders if the man ever considered becoming a parent before this mess. The ‘I’m very disappointed in you’ face was clearly mastered already. 

But it’s over quickly enough, and Will lets out a slow exhale, pinching the skin between his brow with his thumb and forefinger. “Just glad you’re alright, mate,” he sighs again, hand falling back down to his side. “Be ready for debrief tomorrow: everyone else won’t be so forgiving of you _definitely_ being a huge ass.”

Will levels Charlie with a _look_ , before patting his shoulder and leaving him stood in the hallway.

Charlie’s fuming and he’ll admit it, acting a _lot_ like a child throwing a temper tantrum right about now. Things completely went to shit, tomorrow is going to be shit and now that he's alone in his room... What's a little breakdown between him and these walls?

His arm has been out of its cast for months, but Charlie feels even more useless than he did with it on. He thinks about the debriefing, thinks about the higher-ups throwing his insecurities and fuck-ups right to his face- “ _You’re a liability_ ”- that he can’t even handle his team anymore, putting not just himself but his friends in danger- “ _Clearly working with Daniel is impossible for you_ ”- and giving him a thousand more varieties of disappointment- “ _We expected better of you._ ”

He lets the catastrophizing runs its course, stubbornly going through the motions of getting ready for bed. Dan’s words roll back and forth in his mind like rewinding a video tape, snagging and skipping at parts like kinks in the film. 

His head hits the pillow, and the tape gets stuck on repeat. “ _Not much of a leader, are you?_ ” No, _fuck_ that. Dan doesn't know a _goddamn_ thing about him.

And to prove it, Charlie shuts his eyes and powers through the sting.

###  _9_

“Does your arm still hurt?”

The way Dan asks is meek, genuine concern between the syllables.

Charlie isn't trying to be a huge prat, but he's lightheaded from exercise and gobsmacked from the question. “Why?” (... _do you care? … are you asking me, when you're a mess yourself, mate? … are you even here?_ ) doesn't quite manage to sum up the thoughts rattling in his brain, unfortunately. 

Dan doesn't even flinch, face betraying nothing whatsoever. Another misfire. After a painful stretch of silence, he brushes past Charlie without another word.

###  _18_

Smuggling certainly wasn’t an easy task, but you would think sending a few simple letters wouldn’t turn into a half-day long affair and having to pay off _three_ postmen instead of one.

Charlie hates the hassle, but phones are too much of a risk. He’s always been close with his family, rooted off in the countryside; not too far from the small yet proper city of Lichfield. His parents long since retired, and his sister didn’t want to try her luck in London like Charlie had. She got married after uni and moved into the open plot around the bend and down the road from the one they’d grown up in. The Barnes’ were simply not made for traveling, and Charlie’s happy to be the black sheep in that department.

Lifetime friends are out there too. Ben from primary school, and Ed who moved halfway through secondary. The three of them were loud, rambunctious teenagers, way too interested in music to actually find themselves in any real trouble. Finally getting barre chords down and rushing over to Ed’s, banging away at someone’s dad’s old drum kit, maybe even convincing one of their friends to let them do a house show. that completely occupied their summers, Charlie felt like he was on top of the _world_ when they finished their EP, just before leaving for uni. They'd gotten antsy, the older they got. When Ed‘get out and stay out!’ of Lichfield, but the cobblestoned streets of their youth drew them back in after just a few years. Charlie tentatively brought up the Inquiry over a pint, graciously given to him by the same bartender who had groaned when he showed up at midnight on his eighteenth birthday. Ben laughed at him so hard beer came out his nose, and the aforementioned bartender threw a rag at them from across the bar. Ben teased that he was ‘a sorry excuse for an army lad’ as he scrubbed beer from his shirt, and Ed promised he’d make him a mix CD before he left.

There were definitely perks to small town life, and one of them was absolutely that addresses never changed. Saves him so much hassle.

He barely made it back to the warehouse before sunset, running into Dan by chance on his rush to grab supper. 

“You were sending letters? Family?” Dan poses, hands hanging loose in the pockets of his hoodie. He looked relaxed, baseball cap thrown over the bit of hair he had growing back, no glasses in sight.

“Grew up near Lichfield and everyone’s still there,” Charlie nods as he opens up. “Parents, sister, childhood friends. Best bakery in the world, a girl who hates my guts...”

“Isn’t there a cathedral there?”

Charlie smiles. “You know your stuff. Bet you didn’t know it had three spires, though.”

They continue discussing Lichfield’s weird factoids through dinner and the journey back to their rooms, with Dan asking the questions and Charlie giving up on not rambling on and on. He’s earnest, but Dan isn’t giving back much of anything about his own past. Not even an inch to think about trying to take a mile. Charlie considers coming right out and asking him, wants to throw any and all tact out the window and _know_. But it’s definitely going to ruin the moment, as the two of them stand at Charlie’s makeshift desk looking at old photos.

“A hedgehog?” Dan asks excitedly, holding up a pinstriped polaroid, one of the newer trends his sister was getting into.

“Yeah, that’s my pal Norman. He lives with my parents still. Luna absolutely adores him, even though she’s so big-”

Dan oohs as Charlie goes on, taking hold of each photo for a closer look before gingerly putting them back in order against his thigh. His reactions to some of the funnier shots is infectious, but it’s making Charlie _miss_ everyone something terrible. There’s nothing keeping him from going back, no one would judge him for it. But that’s exactly why he _can’t._

“I’m heading back once this is through. Maybe they’ll throw me a parade down our dirt road,” Charlie says, sullenly thinking about the last he’d seen his sister, they fought. Hopes she'd do it for him anyway.

Dan breathes out a laugh. “I’d pay to see that,” he says, huffing when Charlie raises an eyebrow at him. “I really would! 20 quid at least!”

Charlie thinks about Dan in his hometown: how he’d marvel at everything planted in the cathedral garden, get taken for a run, not a walk, by Luna through the wildflowers out back, and tenderly hold Norman in his hands while they sit on the floor of Charlie’s bedroom.

Charlie finds he doesn’t quite mind the imagery. But he does mind not really knowing what something like that would mean for Dan, and he lets his curiosity rest while he daydreams.

###  _3_

“You’re asking me to do _what_?!”

Charlie’s definitely not using his inside voice, but he’s got a pretty good excuse for it this time. It’s much better than ‘Kyle slapped me so hard with a piece of stale bread, I got a cut on my lip’, that’s for sure. He’s pretty confident the pseudo-board room isn’t sound-proof though, so he mentally transmits a passing apology to anyone out in the hallway who might have suffered a tad bit of hearing loss because of his shriek.

“We know this is a bit out of left-field, Charles,” Helena calmly reassures him, always acting the part of their level-headed Chair. She adjusts her scarf as she speaks, and fixes him with a look that means she absolutely will not let him refuse this. “But we really think your team is the best suited for taking on another member.” Fuck.

“Plus, this will keep you off the field. Give you a chance to focus on the groundwork and heading the operation,” Paul says, another nail in the coffin.

“And keep you from getting hurt. _Again_ ," Frances sing-songs. She chuckles when that makes him shuffle from embarrassment. Because...

They weren’t _wrong_ , is the thing- Charlie had been clamoring to take some more time with his mission drafting, and tried not to let his mind wander to the possibility that this was making him miss things, why he’d been getting hurt more often. 

But The Commission wasn’t just pairing him up with just any new recruit, but with the ex-WWCOMMS operative who’d not only found but _broken into_ their base.

“I understand all of that, but why... _him_? Just who is he anyway?”

“His name is Dan. We’ve kept a close eye on him these past few weeks, as the brainwashing wore off and he was able to give us more info,” Paul informs him. “There wasn’t much about him to learn, but his knowledge of standard WWCOMMS operations and layout of their headquarters will be _invaluable_."

“And this is why we’re trusting you with this,” Helen insists with a wave of her hand, an odd air of finality falling over her next words. “We believe Dan is the key to finishing off Wild World for good, and we believe you’re our best chance of unlocking him.”

He had agreed to meet up with Will once he got out of the appointment, but Charlie’s seriously considering sprinting outside and flinging himself right into the Thames. He’s too late though, Will rounding the corner already and raising a small bag of chocolates when he sees Charlie down the way.

They eventually perch themselves on one of the overlooks in the main warehouse floor. It's nice to watch the few people still milling about from up here, and they take turns reaching for candies as Charlie fills him in on what the Commission had spoken to him about. (“I just don’t know what they want from me. Helen always speaks in riddles, you know how she is!” “Oh, I am quite aware.”) 

Once he makes it to the end of his fuming, Will just roars with laughter. Charlie shoots him a withering look that makes the man double over and begin gasping for air. It goes on for way too long, some of those down below looking up for the source of the noise in the otherwise quiet space. Charlie bitterly hopes he chokes on that chocolate.

Will gathers himself after a bit, popping the last piece into his mouth and humming thoughtfully as he chews. A lazy smile stretches across his face.

“It’ll be interesting, working with someone that doesn't have your brittle bones,” he teases.

“Don’t start,” Charlie warns, teeth gritting. Will’s face twists like he’s about to go again, and he gets a bop to his shoulder for the trouble. “Don’t even start, I swear!”

Will concedes, giving a cursory dusting of his pants as he stands with a laugh. “Alright, alright. Stopping. Don’t want to hurt your papier-mâché body anymore than it has been-”

Charlie chucks the empty wrapper at his face. Will doesn’t even try to dodge it.

###  _20_

When Dan holds his gaze now, it _burns._ It sends something not unlike electricity up through Charlie’s spine, like a lightning strike bright against a black sky, sharply snapping him to attention. Dan’s eyes like to drift over to him, and it’s all he can focus on for a second. His fingers fumble with whatever’s in his hands, stumbling over his words as his collar suddenly feels much too tight—but only for a moment. He’s a professional, after all. (Nevermind that, more often than not, he feels like a kid playing a real nasty game of pretend.)

But despite the comparisons to lightning, when Dan looks at him these days, it’s not harsh. Definitely nothing like the first few months, when they so much as glanced at one another a bomb inched closer and closer to flashpoint. No, now Charlie realizes that Dan’s got soft, kind eyes—like those glow-in-the-dark stars you stuck to the ceiling of your childhood bedroom. He thinks back to the winter before he turned eleven, when he believed it was a bright idea to go camping in his backyard in the middle of February and read books about astronomy. He was fascinated by the constellations; of Sirius, the brightest star in the night sky, above his head like it was watching over him. Charlie had concluded that they must be his guardian angels, and when he relayed this to his mom, she just laughed warmly and ruffled his hair in agreement.

And maybe he’s getting too poetic about another bloke’s eyes, but can you blame him really? Dan had hidden them behind shades at first, and covered every inch of himself to hide the marks WWCOMMS had left on him. Now his face is fuller- less sallow, cheeks now rosy and vibrant. His veins aren't even tinged black anymore. He starts to look like the other Dan Smith again, and _Dan-_

 _He just_ \- smiles, and smiles, and smiles at Charlie like the world around them isn’t kind of crumbling to pieces.

And _gosh_. When he does, his eyes twinkle like stars.

###  _7_

Kyle, ever the man of tact, strolls right up to Dan one morning and starts outright badgering him with questions. He doesn’t mean any harm, that much is obvious, probably just trying to cool some of the tension that seemed to linger whenever Dan was present. His voice doesn’t carry across the gymnasium or anything, but Kyle is _loud_ \- so it’s pretty obvious when the two of them are stuck deep in conversation for the better part of the morning. 

Charlie isn’t going to ask. He swears to himself he won’t, even though he’s disgustingly curious as to what Kyle’s managed to glean from Dan the mystery man. If it gets brought up over lunch, then sure, he’ll bite. He never considered himself much of a goss, so he’s filing it under the “recon” tab in his brain.

But it doesn’t get brought up. Kyle doesn’t talk about it all day. Which is why Charlie’s knocking on his wall at half-past 9, shrugging sheepishly as he’s let in.

“I thought the Commissioners would have told you about all that,” Kyle puzzles, weight resting back on one arm while he fiddles with his mustache. He’s in his pajamas, but he has his battered old keyboard on the bed next to him and headphones swung around his neck. He made Charlie listen first thing, “ _as pre-payment for whatever you want from me this late,_ ” and it wasn’t bad. Just a haunting little piano tag, even so he’s immediately imagining the thousands of ways Kyle might butcher it with effects later.

“They honestly didn’t tell me _anything_ ,” Charlie bemoans, slouches a bit further against his place by the doorway. Kyle hums, turns it into a quick tune as he bobs his head.

“But I bet you didn’t ask. Them, or Dan.” 

Well shit, he’s got him there.

But Kyle does eventually share as much info as he’s got, not a whole lot in the grand scheme. Dan remembered his escape from WWCOMMS in hardly-there flashes: running through clinically stark hallways, the sun harsh on his face when he made it out and onto the street, broken-off shouting and stray gunfire following him as he bolted. He had no clue how he came in contact with the Inquiry, and after facing down _two_ mobs with guns pointed right at him, maybe he just happened to be the luckiest man in London that day.

“Along with the standard side effects. Confusion, sleep problems, hallucinations...” And vomiting black bile on the bathroom tile; the usual gamut.

Something dawns on Charlie then. “So that’s why we didn’t see him for months, and why The Commission didn’t say anything.” There was no way in hell they’d let Dan go after a caper like that, like a two-sided coin bound to land tails if left in the wrong hands again. And in the meantime, they clearly saw him useful enough to be taking on missions. But something still didn’t quite add up.

“Sure sounds like it. It sure sounds like it...” 

Kyle kicks him out pretty damn quickly after that line of conversation runs dry, but he got Charlie to swear on his previously broken arm that he’d help him with a track later in the week.

Before he closes the door, Kyle tacks on, “Dan’s not a bad guy, though. A bit of a mess, but aren’t we all?” and leaves him with that.

###  _17_

Neither of them have risked taking a walk like this before, but the small section of their borough has been unusually quiet lately. Charlie doubts they’ll get another chance like this for a long time, or ever again. In their line of work, it’s a possibility not often spoken upon. But nothing really feels off-limits out here. He and Dan snuck out together after dinner, eager to feel the warm nighttime air against their bare skin over the stuffiness of the warehouse. It’s dangerous as hell to be out like this, but the abandoned construction sites and half-finished condominiums aren’t that interesting to WWCOMMS. Can’t control when there are no people around _to_ control, after all.

Though Charlie’s more interested in the man beside him than the abandoned buildings or listening for the telltale hum of drones; Dan has been remarkably animated today, arms waving wildly and not as afraid to make eye contact. He’s wearing glasses but not his gloves; his veins are hardly black anymore, though his eyes are still stark white behind his new clear frames. Charlie doesn’t find them as unnerving these days, just another piece of the puzzle that is Daniel Smith. 

It’s not long before a huge billboard comes into view, **HERE FOR YOU WHEREVER YOU ARE** perfectly printed in the center and illuminated by streetlights. They come to a stop. Dan goes quiet beside him, and Charlie’s feeling brave, for once ready to ask _what’s wrong_ when the silence is broken like it was never there to begin with.

“That’s what it felt like. Being with them,” Dan says matter-of-factly, then sniffles. He pats around for a tissue before giving up and wiping his nose against his shirt sleeve. “Don’t remember dealing with spring allergies though.”

Charlie’s not sure if it’s the timing or the change of topic that makes him die laughing, the sound shrill and honestly not flattering even a little bit. It echoes off the concrete shells around them, and they _definitely_ need to be getting out of here soon. But the smile Dan shares with him is soft, his eyes looking almost pale blue in the shadow from the streetlight. Charlie feels off-step, just for a moment, like a key somewhere is clicking into place. He doesn’t get the chance to reflect on whatever that was before he hears the hum of machinery and propellers in the distance.

They run back to the warehouse like children, unable to contain their laughter. And when they finally make it back to base, they can’t stop. They’re leaning against each other, out-of-breath but still giggling and Dan’s eyes are still shining and Charlie can’t stop grinning right back at him.

##  _8_

Dan is clearly dangerous. 

Charlie’s not sure how everyone else doesn’t seem to see that. He could name at least a dozen reasons if he really put his mind to it, but the first thing coming to mind is how ace he is at sparring. Charlie’s entire body is fucking _aching_ from getting knocked on his ass for the nth time this week. It’s starting to drive him crazy, from pain or resentment or some other emotion Charlie’s not sure he’s even capable of feeling right now.

He’s finally dragging himself back to his room an hour or so later, drills and training at long last wrapping up for the day. He’s sore and cranky, ready for an extra large cuppa and half a bottle of painkillers. But they don’t have that kind of luxury, not anymore. So Charlie hefts his old electric kettle out of his cupboard and lets his mind drift.

Of course it decides to drift back to Dan.

The goss about the mysterious new guy has mostly quieted down by now, but there are a few particularly scandalous ones that simply refuse to die. " _Some think his programming is going to kick back in one of these days. We’re all gonna be_ toast," a whispered hush around the corner. " _Heard he used to torture the rebels that got captured,"_ with a shudder at the idea in the games room. " _Remember: he showed up covered in blood that wasn’t his. Killed his own kind then ran straight to us, how cold-blooded,"_ somewhere around the med-bay, like it’s such a shame rather than vicious and crooked.

The rumors seem to roll off Dan like water: he keeps his head down, trains and spars with the rest of them, and doesn't cause a scene. Charlie doesn’t know what to make of it. People are right to ask questions when a bloody man in an enemy uniform and wild eyes shows up claiming to want to help them, and The Commission isn’t eager to give them any answers themselves. It’s maddening, making Charlie’s gut coil in disconcertion and something not quite unlike pity.

The kettle starts to whistle, and it brings his mind back to more pressing thoughts. He wonders what tea he’s still got in the cupboard.

###  _16_

“Are you _kidding_ me? We could have all been in a proper band!”

Kyle is absolutely smitten when he finds out Dan plays piano, chattering on about grabbing his synth and finally getting to talk shop with someone that wasn’t a ‘bloody guitarist’. Charlie has aptly reminded him a thousand times over that he can, in fact, play both. But this time he’s getting caught up in the serendipity of it all. Sue him.

Dan exclaims “I’m rusty, I’m rusty!”, but Kyle’s already off, bounding out of their office-slash-meeting room. They were definitely supposed to be on the clock, but sometimes you realize it’s a Friday and you check out. Schedules weren’t tight, definitely not a nine-to-five gig this line of work. Sometimes you feel like playing gin rummy and talking about music with your coworkers. Truly some of life’s simple pleasures, even though Woody has been stuck in a brutal game with Will for a genuine eternity.

Dan deflates, and Charlie pats his shoulder in a quick one, two. 

“Get ready to put on a show, mate.” Dan looks at him gloomily, and Charlie’s hand falls away. He sighs a little dejectedly, but straightens himself back up.

“I haven’t played in _years_. Won’t be anywhere close to pretty,” Dan confesses. 

Woody throws in, “No better time than any to get back to practicing then.” His attention quickly drifts back to the game. Will throws a new card down with a smirk and Woody’s face turns into something murderous.

“You should grab your sticks, Wood. It’d be fun,” Charlie suggests.

Woody waves him off with a simple _next time_ , flicking card after card at Will when he snickers that he might have more luck with that than rummy.

Kyle bounces back in not long after that, quickly getting Dan set up with the keyboard resting in his lap. He awkwardly futzes with the settings, reiterating that he’s not sure he can even play anymore.

“And I only know old pop songs, not much else…” He trails off, as his fingers gently glide across the keys. “Actually-”

The first few notes shake, but eventually become a little more measured out, steady in their easy rhythm. And the next, and the next, and the next. Dan builds a simple melody on his other hand and there’s- that’s _something._

It’s nothing profound or groundbreaking, but they’re all quiet for a second as Dan leans into it, grinning like he can’t quite believe it himself. 

Charlie laughs, a little awed. “Good _grief_ , Dan.”

“You’re not half-bad! You had me expecting a primary school talent show,” Kyle accuses as he throws his hands up wildly, tugging the synth back into his own lap. He changes the preset to something electronic and ridiculous, and everyone else’s attention washes back away from Dan.

He relaxes, smile guarded but clearly pleased, and turns to Charlie to quip, “Cheers to muscle memory, right?” 

Dan looks years younger in that moment, faint wrinkles loosening up from the pull of his smile. It feels like being dunked into a lake on a hot summer day, all at once, that this man was still a stranger and that Charlie really didn't know much of anything at all. 

But like a hot summer day, the shock of the water fades to relief. He decides to put his head back under, eyes adjusting to something wholly new and different.

###  _14_

" _You’ve got this, Dan,_ " Charlie says, and absolutely believes it. " _I'll be your eyes and ears, Woody’s Woody, and Will’s always been ace at getting me out of the trickiest of situations._ " The feeling of Dan’s hand in his still lingers, weeks later. Even as they’re all getting ready to enter a literal lion's den, it’s all he can think about really.

It’s been nearly a year since their last attempt to take Crystal Palace, and Charlie’s definitely surprised the Commission had approved his proposal to give it another go. Another team had been assigned to take on the rail yard, with The transmitting stations have been crucial to giving the media conglomerate a taste of their own poison, and Croydon had actually been easier than it should have been, giving its location in the Greater London area. But the main television transmitter for the whole of London was no joke: the property was huge, security tight and their mainframe even tighter. Kyle had been grumbling about it for months, said it was like chipping away at coal with a rusty pickaxe in a badly-lit mine.

But today, they’re as ready as they’re ever going to be to try this again.

Will sighs, and Charlie’s already cracking up when he hears him agree in a defeated rush over their comms. " _Too many._ "

" _Let's get it done, Danny-boy!_ " Woody chirps, the rap of drumsticks against his steering wheel finally stuttering to a stop.  
  
" _Yeah, unlike you lot, I've got a lovely dame waiting for me._ " Will snides, quiet but clear. His mystery lady is just as mysterious as his past. The man’s got layers, like an onion.  
  
" _It is your turn to bugger off during a mission, so I wouldn't be surprised, mate!_ " Kyle's comment starts a raucous exchange between the three of them, and Charlie can already picture Dan as he considers turning the volume down. 

He lets it go on for another few seconds before piping in, cutting through the noise.  
  
" _Everyone in position? How're things looking terminal-side, Kyle?_ "

Charlie looks over to see him spinning in circles in his desk chair. " _Systems will be offline in thirty seconds, give or take a second—_ oof." And there goes his knee slamming into the table.

" _Well, you lot heard the man. Good luck out there_ ," Charlie declares.

" _Je croise les doigts_ ," Will croons _._ Kyle immediately whines at him, unintelligible but clearly very unhappy that he can’t understand what the man’s saying.

" _Mozoltov_ ," Woody buffs over them all, and things finally quiet down.

Charlie’s waiting with baited breath to give them the final signal, when Dan’s ringing him individually. He switches lines on his base station, and Dan’s voice comes through.

" _Charlie_?"

He sounds nervous, and Charlie’s already scrambling through his mental outline trying to figure out if he’d missed anything, or why something might be wrong. Dan’s got an anxious side, but not here. Not with this.

" _Dan? You alright_?"

The man is quick to shut that train of thought down though. " _No, I mean—yeah, I’m alright,_ " Dan placates. Charlie hears a tinny inhale, slow and measured. 

" _I’ll see you on the other side,_ " Dan says with a laugh, so light and sweet.

Charlie doesn’t move an inch, barely even breathes, until Kyle is hollering for him from across the command room. He scrambles over, shoving his mind as hard as he can back to the task at hand. They had a job to do.

###  _27_

Hitting the ground _hurts_. Like when you accidentally fall off your skateboard as a kid, no knee pads to protect you from stray pebbles of asphalt ripping at your skin. It leaves a dull ache when your back is already sore and bruised, but the freedom of a rooftop is preferred to the crushing silence of your bedroom. (Living below ground like that is a different kind of pain altogether, one that expands, rots with time and crushes your chest from the inside out.)

And the ground _really_ _fucking hurts_ after you’ve gotten shot and can't help crumpling to the floor, ears ringing shrill and the rest of his senses dulled to a point they shouldn't be.

Charlie figures this was bound to happen, as he attempts to take stock of his limbs- check- and surroundings- yikes. His injured leg is surprisingly numb at the moment, but his long-healed arm is starting to spasm again. He wonders if he should play dead. There’s a jumpsuit motionless a few yards away, thin white fabric already saturated with a disgusting mix of red and black. More muffled pops soar through the air above him, and Charlie flinches, scrambles to try and lift himself up and get the hell _out of there_ -

He’s pretty sure he shrieks when Dan comes into view, but his hearing is still nonexistent, vision starting to get blurry from the hyperventilating. Sue him for not being sure. Hands grip tight around his bicep and torso, and Dan unceremoniously drags him behind a desk. He looks more alive than Charlie’s ever seen him, eyes fierce and relief rolling off him in waves. He’s beautiful like this, Charlie muses, even as he’s scrambling for his knife and raving a mile a minute.

" _Dan-_ " Charlie starts to tell him something, doesn’t know what, but then Dan’s _pressing_ into his leg and it feels like his entire body got thrown into ice water. At first he thought he was being a bit dramatic about the whole situation, but now? Now Charlie’s well and truly freaking out. He’s never had a bullet in his leg before, and oh god he got fucking _shot_ -

“If you start talking about _dying, or_ \- or say something stupid. Charlie, I _swear_ -" Dan is still applying pressure, and Charlie realizes distantly that he’d wrapped a piece of trouser leg around the wound. He focuses on taking Dan in, as he speaks to him fast, too fast. The man looks absolutely ragged, stains from who knows which corner of this place all over his face and clothes. All that's left of their guises seems to be the coveralls, and-

And he laughs, thinks of a thousand things he could say- that Dan should take him to dinner first, shouldn’t he want Charlie to say something stupid, ' _I got shot, oh my god_ ,' and this looks an awful lot like when we met- and decides to just pick his favorite.

“Sorry, ruined the party, didn't I?” Charlie leans back, shakily raising a hand to lay against his forehead. It's not even close to his best, but rarely is comedic gold discovered while seriously injured. Dan gapes at him, absolutely gobsmacked, fingers coming away from his leg for a second. Then they're pushing back harder than ever.

Charlie yelps, but Dan doesn’t let up. “You’re an idiot! Charlie, I really- stop _laughing_ ," he groans, adding a few more strips of fabric until things look a bit closer to proper. Once satisfied, Dan’s touch becomes gentle, even as he shifts to level Charlie with a completely unsympathetic glower.

“I hate you so much right now. Get ready to hobble out of here on your own,” Dan says, even though he’s securing Charlie’s arm across his shoulders.

He puts some weight on his injured leg, and figures yeah, he can work with this. Gives Dan a kiss on his temple, for his trouble.

“You don’t, though,” Charlie chirps. And Dan just beams, pure joy overtaking him.

“I got you, I got you,” he sings back as an answer.

11

Charlie pales when Dan walks away, his figure growing smaller and smaller until he turns a corner and is out of sight of the camera feed.

“Dan-” Then there’s a quiet click. He’s turned his comm off. Dan _turned his_ -

Charlie is pretty close to hurling his own to the floor, guilt and panic easily making way for anger and yep, he’s still panicking. His eyes flick between the screens they have set up around the command room, mismatched enough that there’s a hefty CRT amongst the crew that’s holding two other monitors on top. Kyle hadn’t thought he’d need to use them all on this one, since Will and Dan were meant to work primarily in the basement. They were _supposed_ to be digging around the server room on that floor for any more intel on other WWCOMMS-controlled locations, but Dan- that _bastard_ \- left it to Will and stubbornly began to venture to some of the higher floors.

Charlie feels like he’s aged a year in less than an hour, watching Kyle’s auxiliaries scramble around the room to hook up all the unused units. Meanwhile, the man’s tossing aside his rings and heftier bracelets, fingers now free to fly across his keyboard at an absurdly rapid pace. There’s a sheen on his brow, eyes narrow and dialed in as he tears through camera after camera. The room brightens, monitors humming to life as they surround Charlie at its center in an eerie blue glow.

“Found him! On the fourth floor,” Kyle points towards a display behind him, one who’s plastic is long turned yellow and cracks spanning the bottom corners. The quality is rubbish, but it looks like Dan found another server room. It’s smaller than the one in the basement, and if the guards laying motionless in view of some of the other cameras are anything to go by, much more well-guarded.

Will curse is sharp, and he’s scrambling to gather up his equipment before racing to the upper floors. Woody’s been remarkably quiet, but Charlie can only guess how incensed he is. The aftermath of going off-book lands on his shoulders the heaviest, not to mention on the backseat of his auto.

Charlie’s still surveying Dan’s figure on the monitor, grainy but undoubtedly him. His glasses are pushed back, hoodie covering most of what he’s actually doing. But he proceeds to tower after tower with a confident efficiency. Charlie wants to throttle him. He’s attempting to send a psychic message with the intensity of his gaze, willing Dan to turn his communicator back on so he could get the earful he deserved. It doesn’t work, and Charlie’s still stuck leering at the flickering screen with anger and guilt and pride fighting behind his ribcage.

“Hiya? Gonna need directions in a tick!” Will yells as he makes it back to the ground floor, head twisting around as he looks for the nearest staircase.

“On your right, past the plant. Straight up for three storeys,” Kyle supplies, shooing Charlie with his free hand as he does. He snaps himself out of it and goes, back towards the other end of the room so he could keep an eye on Will.

“Uh, we’ve got trouble,” one of the auxiliaries says. “Jumpsuits are closing in on Dan.” They must have noticed the trail of their unconscious counterparts and followed, because they were currently zeroing in on the room where Dan was still mining data unaware.

Will was only halfway to the third floor. Dan’s comm was _still_ off. 

_Fuck_ , there was no way this could possibly get worse.

There's only a small flash before every single feed snaps to black, drenching the room m in darkness. Charlie whirls around, finds Kyle looking already for him, face lit and paled by the harsh light still emitting from his own computer.

They both charge out of the room, nearly tackle the first transporter they manage to find and haul ass into the city.

###  _24_

“Oh,” Dan says when he opens the folder.

“Kind of weird to go with it on a Thursday, but better now than later...?” Charlie tries, getting three unenthused grunts of acknowledgment in return.

They're meeting in the middle of the warehouse floor today, sounds of metal on metal and distant frenzied shouting in what is usually a peaceful atmosphere outside of missions. Everyone’s running ragged in the haste to complete last minute repairs, prepare and load up gear, and fit in as many extra drills as one could physically handle. The big day is still a few weeks out, and it's all a little maddening considering they're all flying by the seat of their pants, to put it plainly. It's all kinds of exhausting and exhilarating, and that's certainly enough to keep Charlie going.

They're out of their usual room because of Woody, who's busy working on the underside of his auto. It's a much needed change of pace: Will leans against a support beam closest to the tool closet, crossing his arms and staying stock still unless he's passing over a tool or part. Dan sat himself on a crate next to Kyle, content to watch Charlie walk and talk through the agenda for the day. But then he’d sprung the newest proposal draft on them, saying he'd finished sooner than expected. “Inspiration just struck,” Charlie had shrugged. Dan has absolutely no idea when he would have found the time to do all this, but the man seems to refuse to make eye contact with him. He's thoroughly going through the file, gearing up to share more specifics with them, and Dan is simultaneously fond and ridiculously frustrated.

“Nah,” Kyle says, dragging out the syllable. “Thursday afternoons are when people put their guard down, ‘cause the weekend is close, but so, _so_ far.”

“I think they just wanted to be dramatic,” Woody shouts, voice muffled from under the auto.

“Britain’s own _prise de la Bastille_ ," Will scoffs, running a hand through his hair and looking stressed out in an instant. “The Commissioners seem to think so.”

Their plan of attack actually started out simple enough, taking stock of what the Inquiry _did_ have going for them easier than what they didn't, and eventually some half-baked idea about jamming the radio signals and sending as many people as they could downtown via the rail line molds into something more solid. Like it could actually _work._

The Commission had given the green light to continue working out the details, already approving some of the bigger aspects of it. It's surprisingly clinical, and Charlie laughs when he thinks about whether he could put this on his resume or not.

There's still _so much_ to get done. Even Kyle honestly looks like he's about to fall over, rubbing at his eyes and his hold worryingly loose on his laptop while he's updating everyone on where the signal jammer build is at.

“The unit’s easier to fix because it's huge, but I work _on_ the computer and not _in_ them for a reason,” he laments. Kyle does almost drop his computer then, and Dan finally snaps back to enough attention to grab it from him, depositing it safely on the crate next to them.

He’s about to continue explaining the timetable when they're interrupted by a series of loud noises, metal clattering on the cement and something snapping sharp. It's nothing compared to Woody’s cursing, oil-covered rag flying out from under the car not a second later. It skips across the floor and nicks Charlie right in the trousers, too slow to jump out of the line of fire. When he finally crawls his way out, Woody’s dragging his hands through the oil smeared through his hair, looking absolutely gutted. He starts trying to shake it out, and Charlie quickly tosses him the rag, hoping to spare the rest of them from getting pelted with globs of oil.

“I needed to take a break for supper anyway,” Woody grouses. He gives up on his hair with a huff, looking at Charlie as apologetically as he can manage. “I'll go over everything before we meet again tomorrow.”

“No sweat, mate. We all need a break,” Charlie says empathetically. He waves them all off for the day, and the atmosphere picks itself back up again.

“You look like one of those penguins-” Will starts, still resting on his beam and snorting at the chaos.

“Can you sod off? Get on your bike and get lost?” Woody deadpans and puts his hands out, covered in tar. He began to walk toward Will, with both a threat and clear intention to follow through.

“I’d drive straight into the canal for you, my dear,” the man says instead, hopping back and nearly hitting the car. Woody lays down his weapons, complains he's way too gross to think about much other than bathing, _goodnight_. Will falls into step alongside with him, yawning through a joke like it isn’t early evening at best.

Kyle, despite being in a similar state not that long ago, perks up near instantly, asking if they want to head up to the rooftop and have a few. The night’s still young, that much they all agree.

“Last one up brings the libations!” Kyle whoops, all but racing out of there. But Charlie hesitates, and Dan’s thinking about the folder again.

“July 14th is,” he starts. Stops and doesn't know how to start again.

“Also your birthday. That's crazy,” Charlie laughs. His feint towards nonchalance isn't half-bad, but it's a dead giveaway when the way he looks at Dan goes a little soft.

Dan sighs, something like relief, and his mouth curves into that smile of his Charlie adores. He decides to play along, just to have a bit of fun with the bit. “What are the odds of that?”

Charlie laughs a little, finally coming to a stop in front of Dan and his crate.

“Who knows? Serendipity, yeah?” he suggests. Serendipity, a miracle- good enough for Dan.

He reaches out, and Charlie laces their fingers together.

Dan pulls him closer and hugs tight, arms squeezed around his middle. Dan breathes deeply, face full of cotton. It's a little weird for either of them to breathe like this, but Charlie tries his best. Because Dan is warm, has his softest jumper on and his hair still a bit rumpled from showering. Charlie indulges, nuzzles the man's hair and holds onto him like his life depends on it.

Dan whispers _thank you_ over and over into his shirt, and Charlie feels like he's on top of the world.

10

“Ridiculous, ‘innit?”

Woody stops, spoon raised halfway to his mouth. His eyes slide over to Kyle, who isn’t even looking, and the death glare he’s got directed towards his lunch. Woody lowers the spoon.

“The- the potatoes?” Woody tries. What the _hell_ was he on about?

But Kyle’s already got a mouthful of his own serving, and now he’s struggling in vain to talk around them. Something’s chewy? Choking? Woody’s _pretty_ sure he remembers how to do the Heimlich-

“I _believe_ ," Will stretches the way he says the word, syllables rising high as he speaks so it rises above Kyle’s floundering. “Past the mash, anyway- that he’s talking about Charlie and Dan. Our fearless leader and resident lone wolf.” 

There’s an audible swallow and cough that clicks its way out of Kyle’s throat, and he points a glinting spork right between Will’s eyes. The man just laughs good naturedly, leaning back in his seat and admitting defeat.

“Don’t make them sound cool, they're acting like- like _idiots_!”

Woody agrees with him, but isn’t sure it’s all that serious. “They don't get along, obviously,” he concedes. “But Charlie's just being cautious, don't you think?”

“He is,” Will says. “He’s always gotten a bit sore when things change at the last minute, though.”

That makes Woody laugh, reaching over to give him a high-five. “That’s our boy.”

“Not meant for this kind of work,” Will returns with a smirk. But Kyle refuses to abandon ship on the long-winded route he's taking to whatever his main point is. 

“None of us are! Me and my mates were really _going_ somewhere with our band-” this makes Woody snort, and Kyle swats at him without missing a beat, “and now I'm stuck behind a computer. It’s like my temp days all over again, office drama and all.”

“Kyle, I think you’d be a real waste behind anything _but_ a computer keyboard-” Will says under his breath as Kyle cries out, " _the drama!_ " He gives up the fight once again.

“Most of the drama has always come straight from you, mate,” Woody interjects. “But back on task: Charlie’s right to be worried about this run.” Not to mention how close it is to the holidays. It’d be silly not to take advantage of the fuzzy feelings and absolute debauchery promised by a new year- when the enemy’s guard is down, snug at home counting their spoils. “Recon’s high stakes on a _good_ day.”

“The whole operation is high stakes on a _good_ _day_ ,” Will says under his breath.

“Exactly. And Dan is a wildcard,” Woody finishes. “There’s no telling what he'll do.”

Their table falls quiet. Woody’s picturing Dan as he first saw him, wide-eyed and bloody (they never got an answer to whether all that blood was even _his_ ), but in the backseat of his car. He doesn't have any kind of track record- success ratios, an injuries-on-the-job tally like Will and Charlie do - so it's going to be a gamble no matter what. 

All Woody can do is trust that Charlie planned for that exact fact.

The conversation drifts back to other things, and Dan eventually appears, giving them all a meek hello before he gingerly takes a seat. Kyle has just finished hashing out his plan to gather enough booze for all of them to get well and _truly_ messy, and he doesn't let Dan object his way out of the “sacred” Boxing Day football celebration. What Kyle carefully talks around is that their so-called classic tradition usually devolved into the four of them huddled around a terribly small telly, passing various libations around between them and eating chips. Dan would probably prefer that, but alas.

Woody decides to take one for the team, collecting his trash and starting towards the exit. Kyle keeps up the conversation as the rest of them follow suit, picking at Dan’s brain with his own limited knowledge of professional football.

Will turns toward Woody, pantomimes gagging. “Steady on, mate,” he says. Kyle ignores him, still prattling on about Manchester now.

“Clearly my contributions are unwelcome here-” he tries again, and Dan is the one cutting him off this time, asking Kyle a question that shows he's actually been paying attention to his spiel. Woody hangs back, watching the three of them interact with amusement. 

Once Will realizes there's no saving Dan, still so easy to trick, he casts a hand through his hair and barks, “So I shall bid you all _adieu_." He lengthens his strides and the rest of them fall to a stop as they watch him go.

Kyle scoffs a beat later, already following him around the corner. Their renewed squabble fades as they go and it’s peacefully quiet once again. Dan gives Woody a wry smile, just a quick small thing, but there's something off about it.

“You alright, then?” Woody’s cordial about it, figures it’s only fair to extend a friendly olive branch they could work with before they suit up at the end of the week. Dan may be quiet and their interactions are unfamiliar at best, but anyone could see that the man was no robot. He fidgets for starters, shifting weight from leg to leg as he tries to come up with something nowhere near the truth of the matter. Woody thinks he might be able to get the truth out of him one day, when things are a little less tense and unfamiliar. It's a nice sentiment, he concludes.

“Just nerves,” Dan settles on, so Woody lets it go. “I wonder what we're going to find.”

###  _19_

Months fly by, the New Year and Crystal Palace making way for spring. A few other ideas sprout, other teams’ target mainly focused on gathering any more information they can before summer. A rumor is going around, that the Commission wanted to siege the tower then. 

It's at a hospital in Wellington, where they find it.

They learn that Dan became involved very early on in WWCOMMS’ rise to notoriety. One of the first rounds of testing in drug trials, and signed a contract to write songs for an upcoming pop artist. Charlie reads the words over and over again, tries to soak it all in. Daniel Smith was turning thirty in a few months, grew up around Leeds and has a degree in English Literature, and he has a mother and sister. The way the information is organized is clinical, and Charlie feels uncomfortable going through it. But he has to. He needs to understand the person in this manila file folder, and where they fit alongside the man who knelt in front of Charlie and cried when he finally saw for himself.

“It’s me, isn’t it?” Dan clung to him, arms locked tight around Charlie’s back as he shook and struggled to breathe.

It was. There were clear differences, but it was undoubtedly Dan.

The man in the photo is young. Cheeks full, hair windswept and untamed, falling past the boundary of the frame. But his eyes are still so bright, this time a vibrant blue that photographs beautifully. These are things Charlie cannot deny.

“I just- can't remember anything,” Dan said. “Not even my-” He doesn't finish the thought, doesn't have to. Charlie’s stray to his family, whether they received his last letter. Has his youngest nephew started to walk yet? Did his sister have any leftover hair product he could turn into a gift? 

Then they stray to Dan. Why did he take the job? How much did he love music? The man sniffles and shakes Charlie from his thinking. Dan quietly counts a series of deep breaths, almost silly in its deliberation. Charlie holds on tighter, holds back the easy tease he could make about the wet spot on his shoulder. On any other day, the jaunt might make Dan smile. But it isn't everyday you find something that shakes everything you've considered part of your identity to the core, so Charlie knows it’s to be expected.

When they pull back, Dan looks at him gratefully, pained but resolute. It's late, they should have turned in ages ago. Charlie starts to ache as it sets in, and he pulls Dan into another hug. One more, and then.

A soft and sweet _thank you, Charlie_ brushes by his ear, and then Dan’s gone, down the hall and taking his warmth with him.

Charlie clings to that moment, everything new he’s seen and read about the man. Shifts it around the things he knows now - Dan’s deprecating sense of humor, his hands on a keyboard, the ways he pushes Charlie in a completely new direction he never expected to go.

It's new, a fragile- oh, so _fragile_ \- idea of a person who used to, and still is named Dan Smith. It's almost funny in its cruelty, that Dan’s eyes are somehow brighter than they used to be.

###  _21_

Tucked away in the warehouse’s office, only accessible if you manage to grab onto the rusting emergency ladder just beside a fourth floor window, there’s a small balcony tiered lower than the rest of the base’s main roof. A chunk of the brick wall is now an extra foothold, thanks to Will’s steel-toed boot knocking it loose many moons ago, a bit of bright red peeking out from beneath muddy brown.

 _No negativity, absolutely_ _no_ _bad vibes allowed_ Kyle had declared- for this rooftop is a place to rest, or to smoke and _forget_ the state of affairs for a moment. And it has truly been Charlie’s safe haven during his tenure with the Inquiry. Single-handedly hoisting up four chairs of varying shape and size will give you that divine right. His little marginata sits in the corner, a once-nearly dead houseplant he’d found up there and nursed back to health. When Woody accidentally called it Margaret, Kyle was convinced Charlie was _hiding_ _your lovely gal from your best mates! I’m so hurt, mate!_ for a week straight. He coos at its leaves whenever he's up there now, singing ridiculously sultry praises to a miniature tree with his limbs sprawled across the floor.

Charlie comes up here to catch a breather, and after the hard days- the day his arm came out of its sling, after that hellish mission and even more hellish debrief, and after things finally tipped over with Dan - to feel grounded. Being outside like this, summer breeze tousling your hair, high above it all- the dilapidated buildings, abandoned cars on the freeway, and red electric eyes. You can't see the WWCOMMS tower against the skyline from here. Just its reflection.

Seagulls swarm the nearby railyard, bright white against the dark metal of the cars and tracks. It was uncanny in the most harmless of ways, but it personally gave Charlie the creeps. He could still gather a little solace at the small sign of life from the place London had become, though.

It’s just Dan and Charlie today, the others complaining too much about the spring chill and more important things to do. They've properly melted into the two rolling chairs amongst their seating selection, choosing to forgo any libations in favor of old-fashioned peace and quiet. The sun set not too long ago, leaving just enough light for it to be comfortable. They’ll have to head inside eventually, but for now they’re still sun warm, about to be whiskey warm and eager for conversation.

“Seagulls don't usually come out this far west,” Dan says matter-of-factly, settled in his seat like a maniac, when he passes the bottle back. His legs were up on the seat, positioning himself sideways so he could lean back and rest his neck on the arm of the chair. Charlie can’t prove him wrong, so he’ll consider it fact. “It's so strange.” Though he does wonder about Dan’s definition of strange.

“Everything is,” Charlie goes with, shaking off his turn. Looking to get knackered tonight, he is not. “Like the world was meant to be something different.”

Overhead, flashing lights begin to shine through the thick cloud cover. Dan cranes his neck up, up, up as the plane flies overhead, eventually going so far he’s back to looking at Charlie. His hands fiddle with the drawstrings of his hoodie, the end that’s frayed and held together with tape. "Do you think things will go back to how they were before?" Dan asks quietly, the breeze carrying the words the rest of the way between them. There's no telling what he means by ‘before’, but Charlie’s answer is still the same.

"No," he says, and believes in every sense of the word. They have an actual _chance_ at this, at dismantling WWCOMMS and life going back to normal. But he just can't see himself falling out of touch with the close friends he’s found here. Charlie can't see a world where Woody wouldn't be in town for a weekend football match, or one where Kyle stops asking him for advice on his music. Even Will would be the type to send a bottle of wine on New Year’s, classy as ever when showing that he cared.

"Yeah, I thought so,” Dan agrees easily, like he knew all along. Even if he heads back to Leeds, or sticks around in London; rings to grab a pint, or to ramble to him after three too many; keeps those _bright_ bright eyes on Charlie forever, or _not-_

It's easy to hear it reflected in Dan’s voice, so Charlie puts it into words. “You didn't hope so.” 

“No,” Dan parrots, eyes sparkling like he was hoping for anything but. 

Oh.

The realization washes Charlie over like a wave, not unsuspecting enough to bowl him over, but enough to bring him under. But he doesn't know how to talk about the insistent pounding of his heart. “What do you think you’re going to do?" He settles on instead, wincing around his own cowardice.

"I don't know,” Dan says breezily, looking back towards the sky and not at all bothered by the prospect of the great unknown. “There's just so many possibilities."

"Will you, er- Do you think you’re going to settle around here?" Very smooth, Charles. He brings his arms up behind his head, lays on how relaxed he most certainly is about this conversation. He’s definitely not feeling like his heart’s about to beat right out of his chest and onto the rooftop.

"London?" Dan tilts his head, curious.

Charlie nods, pointedly not looking away from the night sky as he does. "I don't know where everyone else will end up, but yeah. I thought I might."

"What? Charlie..." He knows what Dan will probably say: variations of _I thought you were going back to Lichfield_ , _didn't you want to see your family_ , _what about Luna?_ Charlie’s heart surges, and he's shaking a little bit now. He could definitely blame it on the early spring night if Dan asked, but he resolutely stamps down on the feeling.

"Of course I'm going there first thing!” Charlie says in a rush. He takes a deep breath, tries to get centered even though he can feel the weight of Dan staring at him. “But... after all of that. Figured I’d see if anyone still wanted to try being a proper band."

Dan doesn't say anything, and Charlie's _absolutely_ losing his fucking cool.

“I don't know why I’m saying this…” Charlie says, arms coming uncrossed as he sits up. “I want you to stay. Uh,” and fumbles to a stop when he finally looks up to meet Dan’s gaze.

It’s dark out now, but it's easy to see Dan’s blush. High on his cheeks but stark against his skin, flushed down to his collar. He’s pretty like this, Charlie thinks. Dan’s halfway in his chair, twisted towards Charlie and leant over like he's making sure to catch his words in the wind. Mouth slightly agape and eyes open wide, like he can't quite believe what Charlie's just said. 

_Hell_ , he can't believe it either.

“Stay in contact!” Charlie exclaims, trying to backpedal from what he's just laid bare. His heart feels raw as he does, even if this is no less true than the other implications. 

He really _can't_ imagine it, a world without Dan. Charlie prays he didn't just fuck that up, too.

“You know, give us a ring once in awhile-”

Dan doesn't let him finish. He surges forward, snapping the final cord between them quick and sharp and _oh_ -

###  _13_

“Just what is your issue with me anyway?” Charlie startles, fumbling with the papers he'd been reading at the unexpected noise.

Dan looks ragged. His gaze darts quickly around the cafeteria, checking that no one is paying them any mind. The dark circles under his eyes are plain for the world to see, now. Sliding into the seat opposite, the look in Dan’s eyes is fierce, white hot and refusing to back down from the conversation it seems he’s about to force Charlie to have.

The debrief that morning had gone pretty much how Charlie expected it to. He remembers it being short and to the point, but honestly might have repressed all of the memories already. It's akin to walking across the stage at commencement; you blink, and a moment later you’re back to your seat. The constant shuffling of dispositions was dizzying, individual and various group queries going far into the early afternoon. By the end, everyone was starved and too worn out to even pretend like they truly had the rest of the day “off”, as the Commissioners so graciously put it.

So Charlie considers lying, playing daft and denying it outright. He’s still got half a meal in front of him, and his body yearns to go back to bed. But each and every mistake he’s made trying to figure this man out hang over like a heavy cloud, and he's tired of it too.

"My issue is,” Charlie begins as he pushes his tray to the side, “for whatever reason, The Commissioners think you’ve got the secret to shutting down WWCOMMS floating around in your brain. But I have no idea what the hell it is.”

It takes Dan a second to catch up to the turn in the conversation, and his brow furrows in confusion. At least they're on the same page about that. “They think- what?” He asks, bewildered.

“Regardless, I don’t know what the hell you’re here for mate,” Charlie pushes. He wonders why he didn’t say anything sooner. “You showed up, were quarantined, got thrown onto my team, and they wonder why we aren’t working well together?” He scoffs and suspects that this arrangement was designed to fail from the get-go.

Dan raises his voice, “I didn’t ask for this either!”

Charlie sets his jaw, “Then what did you?”

And that is what makes Dan truly waver, cross his arms tight and flare, "I don't know. I don’t- It's always been for _someone else_ , _them_ and not me.”

Even though it’s so glaringly honest, Charlie feels like the one who’s been flayed open.

“I don't know what I’m going back to. I don't know how I made it out, when—" Dan winces, buckling further in on himself. Charlie’s voice is caught in his throat, and he doesn’t even try to dislodge it. “You have Kyle, Woody and Will. Your family is somewhere safe. I've got…” He can’t hold eye contact for much longer, squeezing his eyes shut tight and bowing his head. His body is coiled tight, hands fisted at his sides and shoulders up to his ears. Charlie thinks he finally understands. 

The words are effortless now. “We’ll figure it out,” Charlie urges. “I'm not much of a family man, but my teammates are important to me. Stopping _them_ is important to me.” The zeal fades as he speaks, and Charlie's thankful he doesn't have to scramble for much more to say when Dan finally meets his eyes. Even through the milky haze, there’s a glimmer of what looks like hope. 

“Hell,” Charlie cracks a smile. “You’re still here, aren’t you? You haven't gone back.” 

At the end of the day, they didn't know a damn thing about Dan. He could turn around and stab them all in the back and Charlie wouldn't have the heart to blame him for it. But behind the glassy white of his eyes, he sees something there. He can see the man Dan was before. Charlie's spent years fighting for people like him, those hurt or killed or mentally scourged until they're a husk of their former selves by those bastards at WWCOMMS.  
  
Dan’s gaze lingers on him or just a moment, like he’s still taking Charlie’s words in. Then he’s taking off his gloves, shoving them unceremoniously into his pockets. The black in his veins is noticeably fading, and Charlie knows what the gesture is meant to say.  
  
Dan grips his hand tight, and Charlie accepts the damage and vows to begin fighting for him too.  
  
“Right then, you said something about a radio tower?”

###  _26_

It's an all hands on deck operation, but not much really changes in the grand scheme- Charlie's back on the field. He steps beside Dan, whom he can see clearly and without static around the edges. He can't disappear, not out here. Their bodies drift closer, sway of their own accord so they’re resting against each other for a moment. Charlie links their fingers, loose, hardly there but nonetheless warm.

Hums and crackles start coming through their headsets, Kyle saying that the building’s passcode system was finally shut down enough to let them through. The moment is over. Charlie tightens his grip, crushing Dan’s hand in his, before pulling away to bring his mask to his face.

They file out from behind the station signage, Will and more members of the Inquiry falling in line. And they go, across the courtyard at the base of the skyscraper. The main door is halfway open as it should be and they take off straight inside.

Everyone gets separated, and even though he planned for it, the irony is not lost on Charlie. But Dan is still heading up with him, trying to find the executive level offices, and he's beyond relieved that at least one familiar face is sticking close to him right now. They've managed to avoid most of the trouble for now, but it would be smarter to try and rendezvous back with the rest of the team before going any further. 

He's about to suggest this to Dan, when there's a sudden yell and the heavy sound of footsteps heading their way.

###  _22_

There’s drool on him. Charlie is still groggy, but he knows that fact to be true. Pushing past the immediate reaction of _discomfort_ , he leans back as far as he can to get a better look at Dan’s form next to him.

It’s tacky and a little warm where they’re pressed together. Dan’s head is heavy on his shoulder, face squished into Charlie's arm. He doesn't snore, but his mouth is hanging open. That seems to explain the drool. There's a small whistle whenever Dan exhales from the odd angle his sinuses have found themselves in, and his breath stutters. The little puffs of air are in a different pattern every time, and-

-well, Charlie is charmed _stupid_. He watches the other man for a few minutes more, heart full of fondness and plain and simple affection before the pins and needles and spit get to be too gross for him to handle. He’s not all that surprised when he fails at not-fidgeting so spectacularly it makes Dan begin to stir, though he _does_ feel a tad bad about it.

And he looks ridiculous waking up: his hair is wild and cheeks ruddy, wrinkles pressed into skin and spit crusted at the corner of his mouth. Dan pushes his face further into Charlie's shoulder, sighing slow and deep, like he’s definitely considering going back to sleep. But his fingers were tapping out a pattern against his hip, gentle but dancing up the scales of his ribs and back down again. The early mornings when they were able to be soft with one another. The rest of the day will probably not be so kind.

A hand splays across Charlie’s chest, heavy and present as Dan’s bright, delighted eyes meet his. For a second, everything is well and truly quiet. 

Maybe it was all worth it, Charlie thinks. Maybe so.

“Wake up, starry-eyes,” he sing-songs, nudging himself at Dan’s cheeks and sliding them into a kiss. It’s a little stale, lips chapped and dry from sleep. They break away and grumble grossed out noises, and Dan’s hand flies up to wipe his mouth once he realizes the sorry state of things there.

He murmurs “sorry, sorry,” while scrubbing at his cheek, toothy smile betraying any and all possible remorse for the sake of plain happiness. It’s simply _infectious_ , and Charlie draws him right back in, laughing sweetly into it. He hooks his thumbs in the divot of Dan’s jaw and it's smooth this time, when they kiss. Burning like molten lava, or maybe closer to a chocolate bar that melted a little in your pocket. Charlie is giddy with it, preens when Dan scratches his hand through the hair on his chest and pouts when the kisses slow and he's getting pushed back into the sheets.

Charlie wraps around him, arms crossed loose and comfortable behind the other man’s neck. Getting settled again takes so much longer than it should: Charlie refuses to let go, and though Dan is a surprisingly good sport about it, he can only do so many half-hearted push ups with another grown man hung ‘round his head before he has to yell uncle. Charlie laughs and laughs and stutters, once Dan shoves him back with a hand firm on his hip and a grip on his hair.

Dan settles over him, putting a delicious weight across Charlie’s hips. His eyes catch in the lamplight, fleetingly making them a very pale blue. For so long, Charlie had never been close enough to notice. It would probably drive him mad if Dan didn't just look- so _handsome_. Charlie wants to tell him as much, anxiety be damned. Dan is flushed and expressive, blush growing darker as he breathlessly tries to tell Charlie what for.

“You're _so_ ,” he breaks off with a groan, eyes slipping shut as he barely tries to contain his ridiculously giddy smile.

"What?" Dan’s still splayed halfway across Charlie’s lap, and when he pushes himself up to stretch, his back cracks like thunder. The tension is immediately shattered, both of them bursting out giggling.

“Ouch,” Charlie says, cheekily. “Think it was the push-ups?” He lets his hands glide, slow but steady up Dan’s arms. His scalp still stings, but 

“Sure it wasn’t the grown man hanging off of me like an anchor?” He hums, finally laying down to rest his head on Charlie’s sternum. Dan sends him as much of a withering look as he can from this angle.

“Definitely not,” Charlie laughs, ruffling the man’s hair. Dan _ha_ ’s, resting his head to hear both of their heartbeats in his ear.

They tremble, in time, and breathe it all in.

###  _15_

“The other side” ends up being their most successful mission yet.

That doesn't mean it wasn't absolutely grueling from start to finish. Even with the crucial information they gleaned from the dregs of the last job, security had ramped up ten-fold since their last attempt on the transmitter. Their plan was to keep Dan and Will off the ground for as long as possible, to save time and a layer of reinforced metal away from harm. They sneak in through the checkpoint at the old railway station, and make it to the center to wait for the next move.

But when Woody gets spotted, all bets are off. He flipped the headlights and floored it.

It takes until dawn to fully wrestle back control of Crystal Palace. They had a broadcast prepared in case they succeeded; Helena had laughed when they sat her down in front of the camera. “It's been a very long time,” she mused, kind of wistfully. Charlie catches a look in her eye, and just for a second, even fear can grip someone as steady as Helena's.

The hard drive, a small thing no bigger than a cigarette, sat like a ball of molten lead in Dan’s pocket as they dodged frenzied drones and guards making way for the transmitter’s control room. Dan’s hands shake, but he pulls it from his pocket and plugs it into the central computer. 

All that's left to do is press play.

Everyone waits, a few a little fidgety for possible injuries but most exhausted but determined to celebrate. Kyle is already nursing a beer, decidedly less on edge than Charlie, who couldn't help his fidgeting, shifting on the balls of his feet. It just doesn't feel real, not yet. They'd watched the broadcast themselves, but it hasn't quite settled in yet. Shift changes can take awhile, even if the team is out this late into the morning.

It is not very long at all, the garage door rolls up and in come the battered cars and people who've been out through the ringer. Charlie sees Dan start to trek across the warehouse floor, a Woody shaped figure not far behind still and Will nowhere yet. They meet in the middle, and Charlie throws his arms around Dan because he can't bloody _believe it_. He makes sure it lasts, his heart throwing itself against his rib cage all the while, the roar in his ears only starting to dull when hands finally come up to return the embrace. Charlie can't help rubbing Dan’s head while he's in the neighborhood, and they hardly pull back even when they do. They're talking to each other about a mile a minute, all shades of disbelief and relief because, well-

He’s just giddy, with this strange new feeling in his chest so close to happiness but more like love. Charlie doesn't let himself be scared of thoughts like that yet, instead he thinks maybe, just maybe, he could take on the world with this guy.

###  _xx_

To everyone’s disbelief, Will’s hand-me-down concept car takes itself pretty well to country roads. Charlie was correct to peg the man as an odd gift giver, but when he called them over to his flat, he at least had the decency to present the beat-up old girl _with_ a bottle of wine for their trouble. 

Of course Woody had given them an earful and then some when Charlie told him they’d be headed elsewhere for a bit, hardly stopping for a breath as he got the " _piece of junk, bloody hell_ ," resting on jacks. Dan asks him questions, tries to pay attention in case they get into trouble on the road. Woody calms down eventually, even lets him change the air filter all by himself. The old Mazda is rough, windshield cracked in two spots and a broken radio. But it drives. They even found a real spare for the boot, and Charlie places Margaret delicately in its rim, her leaves brushing against the music cases tucked in the corner.

Now that they're on their way out past Lichfield, tarmac making way for well-worn dirt roads, the extensive planning seems to be paying off. Just like always. The treads catch more than enough dirt to keep the coupé from skidding over dust or getting stuck in mud. Dan drives, windows down so the late summer breeze ruffles his hair, grown out and back to brown. His hands are steady on the wheel and gear shift, but still poised and alert. And he’s _unbelievably_ good at down-shifting. It’s the little things that reveal how Dan’s hands are slick but thorough, the same he is with a gun, and the same he is with Charlie. He smirks a little, and pretends for a moment it's some big secret he waxes poetics about his love in his head.

Charlie asked if they could stop around High street first, because they're going to be swept away by family and all the fanfare, Charlie says, like he has to justify the detour. But Dan understands that he missed this town like he missed his mother, afraid of everything that could have changed while he was gone. Charlie needs to feel the familiar cobblestone underneath his feet, see his mates happy and healthy for himself. Dan agrees sweetly, and laughs out loud because he’s thinking about the video Ed sent earlier, saying _yeah_ in an absurd voice while halfway out of frame.

An old bell chimes above the door when they enter, and Dan thinks it's a much more quaint place than Charlie had made it out to be. Every piece of furniture is unique, a menagerie of old wooden benches and stools drenched in bedazzled pillows and plain upholstery. The rich smell of coffee fills the room, but the front counter is a mishmash of espresso machines and liquor bottles. It’s cozy, and Dan takes it in while Charlie scans the room, hurrying over after spotting his friends. The reunion is sweet, Ed scrambling from his seat to catch the other man in a tight hug. It looks like they're going to topple the table, but Ben keeps it upright, good-natured about it. It's easy introductions from there, and it's easy for Dan to tell them about himself; his family back in Leeds, what he's been doing for work, his music. Dan tries not to tremble over just how he and Charlie had got along at first, doesn't have to speak about anything before.

“That's bloody ridiculous, I just- We heard a _bit_ from Charlie, but,” Ed stops, unsure how to finish the thought. Ben picks up the thread, and smoothly pushes them back towards a lighter topic. They’ll talk about it some other day.

“I'm just glad you're both okay, everything considered. Are you staying in Lich’ for awhile?” The barman comes by as Ben asks, so they all get a chance to sit on the thought as they sip on their drinks.

Charlie figures they are, tells Ben as much and the two nod sagely. Spending time away in the countryside can never hurt someone from the city. But then Dan says, “We’re also uh, looking at a few flats back in London actually.” He’s nervous but all smiles when Charlie turns to him. Suppose that settles that.

“And we've been working on music together, and it'd be good to stay close,” Charlie says, smiling back at Dan and a little excited just talking about this. “Got a pretty good feeling about this project.”

Ed hums a little loudly. “You can finally go on that tour! Remember- we joked around way back in sixth form: Prague, Berlin, uh,” he fumbles. 

“Hamburg, Dresden, and a bunch others. Here too, obviously,” Ben supplies.

“That's not a bad run,” Dan says. Charlie knocks their shoulders together and agrees too.

The conversation carries on, the three of them recounting old classmates and old shenanigans. Dan is enjoying it, looking over at Charlie to confirm some of the more ridiculous of the lot. Eventually there's a lull, and Ben raises his glass, nearly empty. “To getting out and staying out. Or staying in, whatever you geeks fancy,” which makes Ed laugh. They clink their glasses and Charlie chugs his whole pint when they start to whoop and holler. He holds it up like a trophy when he's done.

The celebration wraps up when the sun makes to do the same. They'd told Charlie's family to expect them after dark, so he settles into the passengers ale-warm and comfortable, seat reclined as far back as it’ll allow. Some of that tension is gone from his shoulders now, brain fog starting to recede. So Charlie uses the newfound clarity to watch Dan, hands loose on and tapping out a rhythm, humming along in a half formed-melody. While he was busy winding himself up into a human stress ball, Dan is comfortable.

Charlie's hands start to shake, and he’s not sure why he’s nervous. They _won_. It’s over, and they're headed back home. Dan fits in the picture too, haloed by the orange sunset. So why does it feel like Charlie’s become a bit too big for his skin, like he's about to run out of air? Something starts to build in his throat, rising like water, not quite panic but uncomfortably close.

Then, houses start to pop up around them one-by-one, coming into view on the way over a hill. Brightly painted roofs stand out against the green of the landscape, scattered but mailboxes close on the main road. Charlie directs Dan from here, sitting up stiltedly and gesturing when to turn. 

A single balloon tied to a fence post up ahead, more as they pass. His sister waits for them at her gate. She jumps wildly once she spots them, dropping a confetti party popper when her daughter begins to stumble towards the road. Dan slows the car. The sludge churning in Charlie’s gut takes a backseat to excitement, so he hops from the car to scoop the little girl up in a flourish.

Dan doesn't hear what he's excitedly talking to his niece about, but his sister’s voice rises above all the happy shrieks.

“Charlie, I need you to help us with something heavy later- _yes_ , already! It'll be quick. You must be Dan,” she says, turning to him quick. She's as sharp as her brother, and the scrutiny he gets from those kind eyes of theirs is familiar to him now.

“I am. I’d get out for a proper hello, but…” Dan trails off, listens closer to the engine still jackhammering away. It hasn't _stopped_ running on them, but better safe than sorry they'd decided.

“I know all about it,” she nods sagely, then rolls her eyes and breaks into a laugh halfway through the motion. He's in the clear for now. Charlie springs up from his crouch, fistbumping his niece with an explosion sound and all. He gives his sister a quick hug before climbing back in the car. “We’ll be over soon! Nice to meet you, Dan,” she says and waves them off again.

For all the noise along the way, everything is surprisingly still as they pull into the driveway. No more balloons, no people or pets waiting for them at the door, and Charlie.

Dan parks, dutifully pulling up the handbrake and turning the ignition key halfway. He turns toward Charlie, and catches his gaze. It's a relief, and Charlie's deflating The center console digs into their ribs, but that's fine because this- it’s like a warm breeze, when Dan’s fingers tug at his shirt. A kiss that's nothing more than a hello, and feels a bit like coming home. It reminds Charlie of a sunburn, when his cheeks stay rosy like they don't want to give up the warmth from the sun.

They just kiss, and their free hands scramble to grab hold of each other. Dan squeezes tight, a little off balance, and Charlie rights them both, dropping anchor. The buzz in the back of his head dulls, and his hand aches.

“We made it,” Charlie says, kisses Dan’s cheek for good measure. They really, _really_ did.

Dan’s smile against Charlie's temple is sweet enough, but he asks, “Still nervous?”

“Not when I've got you,” Charlie says, seriously. “Are you?”

Their eyes meet, poignant. Dan’s chest aches from this depth of feeling, and he thinks it might be love. “How could I, when I've got _you_?”

Charlie’s eyes shine like gold. Then he starts giggling, because it _is_ ridiculously cliche, isn't it? They spare no prisoners when it comes to bad jokes.

“Oh my god, you're _so-_ hey!” Before he can say any more, Dan pinches his arm and quickly shoves his door open. He’s jogging towards the house, and Charlie laughs, wild and joyous, before bolting out after him.

**Author's Note:**

> chronological [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/63myGXVXbhdKhXIsfUU1Vs?si=0A5rE_xpQEuG3qghPRi59A) too, if you're into that
> 
> so this……….. Behemoth started as a half baked wwcomms au that was sort of based on star wars that quickly spiraled out of control because i kept "yes, and"ing myself into _checks watch_ 18.5k words. the fact i had to finish AND publish this on my phone........ i deserve a medal. but at least i finished on bastille day! happy birthday dan!!!!
> 
> i had a lot of fun with this one. it was always meant to be a personal challenge: plot isn't my strong suit, and i've never written anything in a non-linear format- so i thought, "yeah these two things can absolutely work together". it needs to be harrowing and mature, but also funny, but also- typical YES AND!ING do you see how we got here lmao
> 
> and if you're at all into this au, i cordially invite you to join me in this sandbox. somehow, some way, there's not enough wwcomms aus. so like... 👁️👁️ 🤲 haha jk... unless...? 😳


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